Rest In Peace
by Macalaure
Summary: "All Dreams are but another reality" – Locke and company visit the grave of an old friend.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Rest in Peace  
**Author:** Macalaure  
**Summary:** Locke and company go to visit the grave of an old friend.  
**Chapters:** 4  
**Rating:** T  
**Dedicated:** Daedalus and Beserked2

* * *

MOBLIZ SAT SERENELY at the tip of the snake-like peninsula which wormed its way through the churning lavender ocean. Perhaps it was due to its location that it had become a site for such dramatic pilgrimage. Its position at the end of the long and winding road had a sense of finality about it, and to the survivors of the Purge—struggling blindly through the recovering world—this was a place where they were prepared to settle down.

Whatever the reason, at the dawn of the new age marked by the fall of Kefka, hundreds of immigrants flocked to the settlement until it could scarcely be called a town any longer; it had grown spectacularly in both population and spirit.

Despite the boom and absent the sounds of construction, the town felt eerily quiet to those who lived there. The governor of Mobliz, a woman who was hardly an official but unchallenged in her work, had given the citizens the day off to take respite from the blazing sun. Some took advantage of this by relaxing in the shade with a cold drink while others brought their children to play by the river.

Outside a dilapidated and unpretentious home, the governor herself was bent over a dark patch of soil, her knees blackened with silt, emerald hair drawn back, and her hands clasping a trowel and a pile of seeds. Small holes had been carved in the soil every few feet, and the woman sat back on her heels to admire her work. She sighed quietly before she heard the patter of small feet approach from the house.

"Mama, what are you doing?" she heard behind her. The voice was loud and pure, childish clarity was still evident in every word.

Brushing a strand of hair from her face as she twisted, she spotted the child cautiously standing at the edge of the garden. A tired smile graced her face before she said, "I'm gardening, Isabella, dear. Come help me."

The child eagerly approached, and the woman winced inwardly as she trampled the carefully arranged holes in the ground. Years of grueling parental training, however, kept the smile plastered on her face. Isabella stuck out a hand, and her eyes lit up as seeds were poured into her hand. She looked eagerly at her mother for further instructions and was not disappointed.

"There you go, dear. Now can you put one of those in each of the little holes you've so graciously crushed?"

The embarrassment was quickly lost in the curiosity of her new task. With childlike care, Isabella deposited a single seed in each of the tiny holes in the ground. The woman allowed a sigh to pass her lips as she rose to her feet and followed in the child's footsteps. As Isabella approached the end of the row and turned to continue, she started at the realization that all her work had been obscured. Tears welled up in her eyes as she began to pout: "Mama, why did you fill in all the holes?"

The woman rolled her eyes heavenward. Perhaps as the town's governance relied increasingly on politics rather than leadership she would hand on the role to someone else.

She knelt down anew, knees thoroughly damp from the saturated ground, and put a tentative hand on her daughter's shoulder. Her shaking stopped and the child looked up at her mother with wide eyes. "This is a garden, dear," she told the girl, gesturing, "and flowers are going to grow here someday."

Her daughter looked at her in puzzlement. "But why do you have to cover them all up? How will they grow into flowers?"

The woman paused, not eager to rush into her explanation. "_Sometimes you need to cover things up in order for them to bloom in the most beautiful way they can_."

Isabella knit her brows together for a moment before her mind jumped to other things. "Oh, Mama, Katarin says the postman is here, so if you have any letters he's going to send off a bird."

Her mother nodded and pulled the stationary from the folds of her dress. "Here," she said, handing them to the girl. "Would you bring this to him and tell him to send them right away?"

The child nodded happily and skipped away, tossing the extra seeds into the wind. They floated down slowly, and one came to a rest in the woman's outstretched hand. She sighed once more, assuring herself that she would definitely hand over her position of governor when the time came; taking care of children was enough of an occupation on its own.

**:i:**

The night was still young when the man stumbled back into the inn, already half drunk. He signaled the innkeeper and fell into a long oaken chair near the back of the room. Head in his hands, he winced at the light from the gas lamp above his head, and once he heard the thud of glass on the wooden table before him and squinted through heavy brows.

Stuck under the bottle was a sheet of paper, weathered around the edges. Careful not to knock the drink over, the man reached out and tugged gently on the page. It leapt free, and, satisfied that his drink was stable, he turned his eye to the paper as it unfolded before him. His face seemed to lengthen and tauten as he pored over the paper, eyes darting ever faster as they took in the carefully printed words. Then, he stood from the table, mind as clear as water, and climbed the stairs to his room.

It was small, about what one could expect from a backwater inn like this, but it was clean and had running water and a bed, better than he could say of some places he had stayed. All of his belongings were already packed, such was the perpetually transient life of a treasure hunter. He heaved the bag over a shoulder and stopped at the door. Bending down slowly, he tossed the worn pages into the crackling flames of the hearth and watched the orange tongues consume them before he left. He didn't turn back again.

**:i:**

Locke was blessed with favorable winds and sunny skies upon his arrival at Mobliz. The trek across the continent had been long and tedious, since the terrain had become largely uniform after The Fall. The treasure hunter handed over his chocobo to the local stable hand and ambled through the rows of buildings, marveling at how far the construction had progressed. He wandered aimlessly about until he asked a local where the new tavern had been erected.

It was a large building near the center of town, and only recently completed. There were still areas that had been cobbled together in haste or not constructed at all, but on the whole it was a stout structure which served its purpose adequately.

Locke threw open the doors with his usual sense of bravado and about to ask for a room when he spotted a familiar face sitting alone at a table. His heart leapt in his chest and a grin broke out over his face, stretching from ear to ear. Employing his long-honed and closely guarded techniques, he slipped soundlessly across the room until he was right behind her, but whether she had heard him—he was, admittedly, out of practice—or simply by coincidence, she turned around and Locke found himself face-to-face with Celes Chere.

"Locke!" she squealed, putting a hand over her mouth out of embarrassment. The treasure hunter laughed and flung his arms around her when she rose to her feet. She returned his embrace, and, after a few moments, they untwined themselves and sat on opposite sides of the table.

Locke studied the woman opposite him. She wore a plain white dress similar to the ones she had ages ago, and her hair was down, flowing like water over her pale features. The resemblance to the picture in his mind was uncanny. During his travels in solitude he had frequently stared into dirty, cracked mirrors and been startled at the strange, unshaven man who looked back at him, but Celes was as impeccably clean and elegant as always.

And yet, something nagged at the back of his mind. Something that was not quite right about her appearance. He pushed the thought aside abruptly, and allowed his infamous smile to grace his face once more. "Celes, it's fantastic to see you again. Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there," she said, grinning at him. "I'm sure your stories are much more interesting than mine."

Locke reclined against the wooden seat and motioned for the innkeeper to bring him a drink. "Pretty much the same old, same old," he confessed, accepting the heavy mug and placing it down on the oaken table.

"So your usual stealing and thievery?" she asked him playfully.

She could swear he had rehearsed the sigh which broke out from him. "That's treasure hunter to you," he announced with mock indignation. Celes winked in reply.

He shook his head forlornly, but was unable to prevent the grin from spreading back over his face. "So how long have you been here?" Locke asked.

She shrugged, looking up at the clock on the distant wall. The iron pendulum swung back and forth with mechanical consistency, meticulously ticking off the seconds. "For a bit. Terra left a few hours ago but she said she'd be back soon—ah, speak of the devil."

The door swung open and a familiar figure stood silhouetted in the afternoon light. A number of people greeted her as she walked into the tavern, but Terra had eyes for only one person in the room. She recognized him quickly and ran to embrace him, throwing her arms around him and saying: "Locke, I've been waiting for you. I've missed you so much!"

Over her shoulder, Locke saw Celes roll her eyes. Extricating himself from her, he took a step back to examine his companion. She also had changed very little, except for the fact that she had traded the omnipresent sword at her hip for a hammer. Eyeing this, Locke told her, "This place looks amazing; it sure cleans up well."

She grinned, her expression resembling that of a chef looking over her prized dish. "Doesn't it? After some of the survivors started trickling in here, I felt like we had to fix things up a bit, and I guess we all got carried away. Now the town's twice as big as it was before The Fall."

Excited to show off the progress, Terra beckoned them outside and began escorting them around, showing them the various buildings, many of which Locke had already seen when he arrived. She was particularly eager to show them her house, which had a noticeable gap missing in one of the walls-it was a personal touch, she told them.

As they walked by, several small figures were milling around outside. Terra introduced Isabella and Christofer, two small children who were extremely disappointed at the realization that _the famous Locke Cole_ was not staying for dinner. They entertained Locke with more stories about his adventures than he could have recounted himself, and he was sure that some of them had been completely fabricated. He glared accusingly at Terra who offered him nothing but a tiny shrug and a grin.

After a particularly absurd tale about Locke single-handedly defeating an Imperial army, Locke announced he had endured enough, and told the party he was returning to the tavern. Bidding goodbye to the children and telling Terra he would meet her back at the stables in the morning, he stepped out of the house and into the mild night air. Just as the door swung shut, Celes slipped out and fell into step beside him.

"So how was it, seeing everyone again?" she asked, stepping out in front to face him. His gaze graced her fluid form, her face and bare arms were pale in the moonlight. He marveled again at how little she had changed since he had last seen her, and yet something still tugged at the back of his mind like a splinter in the stem of his brain. He felt his mind lurch, as though it was on the verge of something and he could feel the answer on the tip of his tongue. But the moment passed and the epiphany was gone. He sighed and pushed the thought to the back of his mind once more.

"It's been refreshing," he admitted, his ever active mind returning to nights spent in solitude and darkness, or drowned in golden liquor so that what little he did recall was obscured by a yellow haze. "It's certainly something I needed to do." He smiled at her and put an arm around her shoulder.

Celes turned her head to face him, a wicked grin in her eyes, standing on her toes so she could look down on him and magnify the joke. "You know, I think you have to be taller than me for that to work."

Locke scowled at her, and gave her a shove before he took off running down the narrow street. Celes followed suit, and their laughter reverberated off the walls of crowded buildings and into the star-lit sky. They ran together into the young night, wreathed in tendrils of pure white mist, and their twisting shadows became one, spinning and dancing in the pale moonlight.

* * *

_So here's this, I've been working on it for quite a while. I__ Finally got it all beta read and approved for publishing. Looking like it's going to be four chapters, but its open to possible change should I, or someone else feel the need._

_As a side note, I'm also open to suggestions for a better title and/or chapter names that ideally would go with the title, although they could relate to another theme._


	2. Chapter 2

The morning came swiftly, and the company departed at first light. Locke and Celes arrived at the stables just as the sun peeked its orange head over the peaks of the distant mountains. Terra was already inside the building, negotiating the price for a rental. She peeked her head outside and to Locke's early morning vision, she was a confused blur of emerald. "Perfect, they've only got two left," he heard her voice drift over.

Locke turned to Celes, and frowned. "I guess you can ride double with me," he told her as Terra disappeared back inside.

She grinned at him slyly. "You'd like that wouldn't you."

He rolled his eyes at her before turning his attention to the two large yellow birds Terra was escorting out of the stables. The party mounted their steeds and set off in the direction of the rising sun. The continent was long and thin and the landscape passed quickly and evenly under the scaled feet of their mounts. To Locke's left and right was the lavender sea, stained dark by Kefka's wrath. Below him was the unyielding rocky terrain, and above him was the brutally bruised, maroon sky.

Directly in front of him sat Celes, and his vision was largely obscured by her head of blond hair. It bounced and flowed in a way he had never seen before despite all the times they had ridden bareback on the birds across terrain much rougher than this.

He felt an unexplainable shiver run down his spine as realization washed over him. The omnipresent pink ribbon with which she had held back her hair was missing from its usual place on her crown. Now that he had placed the source of his discomfort, he was amazed he hadn't noticed it before. "Celes," he yelled. But despite the short distance between them, his words were snatched up by the roaring winds and blown away to some place beyond comprehension.

She turned slightly, enough to look at him with one eye. He could see her mouth the word, _what?_

He shook his head, and she turned back towards the horizon before them. The birds trod on tirelessly over the dead land.

**:i:**

They stopped for the night about three quarters of the distance to the port that they would be taking off from. The two chocobos were tethered at the local stables, and the party entered the crowded inn. Terra went to inquire about beds, and Locke and Celes sat at the only remaining empty table. Across the room, Terra held up two fingers, mouthing, "Two rooms left."

Celes sighed. "Looks like chocobos aren't the only thing we'll be sharing."

"I don't mind sharing a room with you-"

"I wasn't talking about a room."

Locke frowned, and the creases on his forehead jumped into existence. "I'm not sharing a bed with you, I'll be fine sleeping on the floor."

"Oh don't be such a prude," she teased, nudging him in the ribs, but if anything he looked even more resolved than before. "Locke," she said, "I was kidding, it's not a come on or anything."

But Locke stood by stubbornly and insisted she sleep alone in the bed. She gave up as she saw Terra striding across the room towards them. Locke waved towards a waiter, who brought over two steaming mugs and placed them in front of him and Terra. Locke frowned as he looked towards Celes and was on the verge of calling the man back, but Celes put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it, I didn't want one anyway."

There was an extended silence and the temperature in the room seemed to drop to a point where even the warm drinks failed to cure the lingering cold. Locke shivered and Terra noticed, her eyes filling up with concern.

"Locke," she asked slowly, broaching the subject with the care of one who knows the consequences of misspeaking in that context, "Are you alright?"

He nodded and took a sip from the drink in a vain attempt to dispel the cold that had set over him.

"Look, I know this must be harder for you than the rest of us. If you don't want to do this, all you have to do is let me know."

Locke suppressed another shiver and shook his head. "I've got to do it for _her_." Terra gazed at him with sad eyes and nodded. He stood up, bid them a hurried good night, and departed for the stairs. Celes rose in his wake and followed him. Alone at the table, Terra sat, staring into her mug, watching the steam rise and dissipate into the frigid air.

**:i:**

With the lights off, and under the blankets spread out on the floor, Locke barely noticed as Celes entered the room. He turned over in his makeshift bed as she shed her clothes and climbed underneath the thin cover. As he lay, shaking under the wool blanket that failed to block out the frigid cold, his mind reeled with strange dream-thoughts. At some point in the night, he was jolted awake from his half-sleep and sat up, staring into the cold darkness.

"Celes?" he whispered, not expecting a response.

He heard movement from above him, and a muffled voice: "What do you want?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

More movement, and the sound of rustling fabric. The night was stilled with tension, Locke could feel his words reverberating around through the saturated air, permeating his hyperactive mind like a thousand tiny needles.

"I sure hope you have something to say after waking me up in the middle of the damn night."

Locke opened his mouth, but his throat was too dry to speak. He couldn't breathe. His chest was paralyzed with terror and he felt like some wretched beast had crawled on top of him and was seated over his chest.

"Why aren't you wearing your pink ribbon?"

The silence vibrated around him, enveloping him, crushing him under the weight of a thousand unsaid words. The moonlight outside was gone, even though just yesterday it had been a brilliant orb of pale silver light. The room was utterly and completely black.

"I'm fairly certain you know why."

Another rustle in the darkness, with a sense of finality about it. Locke released a pent up breath and opened clenched fists. The air seemed less saturated and he could draw a hesitant breath. He relaxed and his head fell against the ground, utterly spent. For a moment, the cold had abated.

**:i:**

...He dreamt of the night before the Fall.

They had been lying beneath the starlit sky as the airship passed over golden fields and emerald waves that glowed in the pale light. The stars were bright and glorious like a sky studded with a thousand brilliant gems.

Suddenly, Celes gasped, pointing skyward. A streak of light flew by, carving a luminescent path across the heavens. Four eyes tracked its progress across the sky until it disappeared over the horizon. They turned to each other and the vision of the phenomena was still shining in their eyes. Spurred by the moment, Locke asked, "You know, circumstance brought us together, right. If everything could be undone up until now, good and evil, would it have been worth it if we never met?"

Celes looked out at the landscape around them. Absently, she took the pink ribbon out of her hair and wound it around her finger. "No, I'd let everything happen all over again exactly the way it did," she said softly, looking up at the stars. She grasped the ribbon between finger and thumb and began to braid it back into her hair; Locke laughed.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Do you always keep that ribbon with you?" he asked, gesturing with his hand.

"Of course," she said with a devious grin, "Until the day that I die."

"You know," she began hesitantly, and Locke looked up, "I think that was a shooting star. Doesn't that mean we get to make a wish?"

Locke rolled his eyes, and she frowned at him. "Fine, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I'm going to make one." She closed her eyes defiantly and her lips moved, forming indecipherable words. After a brief moment, her eyes opened again.

Curious, Locke asked, "So what did you wish for?"

She smiled sweetly at him, "If I told then it wouldn't come true."

He shook his head and leaned back against the wooden deck. Together they lay there, admiring the stars above them. There were no more shooting stars, but the sky looked no less spectacular because of it. At some point, Celes' breathing steadied and her head fell to rest against his shoulder. Locke lay there, feeling her warmth for a long time. He wondered now whether she would still think it had been worth it, after the Fall and the destruction of everything green and good. In his last thoughts before sleep he reconciled himself.

_I wish she never has to stop wearing that ribbon_...

**:i:**

They left the inn in the morning and ventured down to the sea to inquire about a ferry to the island. Terra negotiated a price and the small boat rocked out to sea as they rode steadily towards to landmass on the horizon.

Back at the inn, the innkeeper was examining the rooms to prepare them for the next guest. To his surprise, the bed in the room of the man who had taken residence there yesterday was made already. It was certainly kind of him to make it on the way out, if not a little unusual; nobody respected good manners anymore. The blankets were tucked neatly into the bed, and the pillow lay against the headstand. If the innkeeper hadn't known better, he could have sworn no one had slept in the bed since he himself had last made it.

**:i:**

Locke, Terra, and Celes stepped out of the boat, leaving their shoes in the craft. Cold water swirled around their submerged feet, and tiny silver fish flitted about below them, caressing their bare skin. The party stepped out of the water and onto the rocky terrain that defined the island. Celes led the way, Locke followed behind her, and Terra brought up the rear.

They marched solemnly across the landscape until Celes came to a stop. Locke and Terra stood behind her and looked on at the dilapidated hut, worn down by elements in the absence of any upkeep. In some areas the foundations had rotted and worn thin, and walls were sagging and the roof seemed spotty. The structure was a simple establishment, and Locke knew that all he would find inside was an empty bed, little furniture, a secret passage that had led to the raft that had allowed her to escape this wretched place.

In front of the house, a marble headstone protruded from the uneven soil. And before of the stone, in contrast to the general decay and damaged landscape around it, a single white rose was in bloom.

There was something unnerving about the island but Terra couldn't quite figure out what it was. Then with a growing apprehension, she realized there were no birds chirping, wind whistling, or leaves rustling. The entire island was void of sound and masked in an eery silence. She was afraid to speak, feeling as though disturbing this perfect calm would break the spell that hung over the island. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Celes whispered softly, not turning to face her friend, "Locke, there's one more thing you need to do for me."

He looked up in surprise and his gaze lingered on the back of her head. Her long blonde hair fell down in waves from her crown; her ribbon was nowhere to be seen. "What is it, Celes?"

Still not looking at him, she said, "I need you to forgive yourself for everything that's happened."

Locke's gaze returned to the ground. He nodded, before realizing she couldn't see him, and said quietly, "I'll try."

Shoulders shaking slightly, Celes turned her gaze back to the headstone. Locke wanted to go to her, put his arm around her, do something at least to comfort her. But he felt awkward and afraid, so instead he waited. His breath was pent up in his throat, and the question that he was trying to ask came out as barely a whisper.

"Celes, what happened to your ribbon?"

But there was no response as she stood alone, looking at the marble headstone. Finally, Locke took a step forward so that he was shoulder to shoulder with her and put his hand over his heart. "May your grandpa Cid rest in peace."

The spell was broken with his spoken words and everything fell into place. Terra turned her head and looked into the unfocused eyes of her friend, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Locke," she said quietly, "where do you think we are."

_Sometimes you need to cover things up in order for them to bloom in the most beautiful way they can_.

Locke looked at her through blurring vision. As she watched, a single tear ran down his cheek and fell to the ground. The setting sun reflected off the drop in tiny golden pricks of light. It was the same sun that lit the sky in a deep blood red, and that illuminated, in brilliant golden rays, the words etched on the headstone in front of them:

CELES CHERE  
Rest In Peace

_"All Dreams are but another reality"_

* * *

_I'm sure a lot of people are super confused by now. If this applies to you, dear reader, I urge you to wait for the next installment and hopefully that will ease your confusion. Also h__opefully, the majority of you won't be confused and will have picked up all of the clues I put out that led up to this. _

_By the way, extra credit points if anyone knows where the epitaph on Celes' gravestone is from._


	3. Chapter 3

Memories besieged the exterior of his consciousness. They flooded the barriers he had long erected, threatening to bring down the facade of lies he had immersed himself in. In the shock of the realization and the sudden onset of pressure from within his own mind, he surrendered, allowing the gates to open and the memories to flood in. Transcending the layers of denial by which he had concealed it, the hidden scenes emerged like a sprout from the ground, blooming into a vision of devastating clarity and precision...

...The blade sang through the air, edge gleaming with a vicious light. But for the first time it was not stopped in midair by Kefka's seemingly impenetrable wards. Locke yelled in triumph as he felt the blade bite deep into the soft flesh of a leathery wing, black as night. Golden ichor spilled from the wound as Kefka roared in pain. Head thrown back in the agony of the blow, he was oblivious to the violent, violet blur streaming towards him. Then he turned his eyes down in shock, scream dying in his mouth as he saw the figure crouching near his torso, clawed limb elbow-deep inside his chest.

Terra withdrew her arm covered in a layer of thick liquid gold. A breath escaped Kefka's mouth and the terrible figure of the god fell to its knees. As he opened streaming eyes, the bright flame of hatred danced in his sockets. The magnificent robes of red, yellow, and green were stained with the red of their blood and the gold of his own. He opened his mouth to speak but only a whisper escaped his painted, cracked lips. "I hate you, and you, and you, and you," he rasped pointing at each of them in turn.

Locke took a step forward, brandishing the sword, gleaming silver stained gold, but Terra put a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly, "Stand down, Locke. It's over."

Kefka snarled at the group as the fire in his eyes began to dim. The dancing flames ceased and with the last of his breath, a silent whisper of wind, he cursed them, "Be damned."

Distracted by the fall of the god, the swivel of the great cannon atop its perch went unnoticed. It's glow however, alerted everyone. "Look out!" Sabin screamed, "The light!"

The mouth of the cannon bubbled with energy and Locke, Terra, and Sabin stood frozen, awaiting their fate; only Celes moved. She stepped in front of the group, shoving Locke unceremoniously to the ground. Her blonde hair swirled around her face, in tune with the incredible energy that was already escaping from the wreckage of its prison of flesh. It was this energy she harnessed as she cast her spell. She held her sword out in front of her like a lightning rod, tracing runes in the air with its glowing blade. The succeeding flash of light blinded everyone in the vicinity of the blast.

As usual, Locke was the first to recover. "Celes!" he screamed, wandering blindly, blinking his eyes to rid them of the oppressive light. As the white faded to gray and some of the color returned to the picture, he let out a moan as he spotted her prone figure. Her rent sword had been flung from her body, and lay in a steaming wreck several meters away. He knelt beside her and lay his head on her chest. Hand shaking violently, he placed two fingers on her neck.

And her heart—oh, her heart—beat so slowly. It pulsed a slow and solemn tune, to the beat of a war time drumline. He felt his own heart, beating the life blood around his body, slow to the the pace of hers. He was mumbling incoherently and tears were streaming from his eyes and falling in puddles on her chest. For one delusional moment (_one glorious moment_) he thought he saw her chest rise and fall. Then, the pressure stopped; her heart beat no more; she was gone.

The rest was a dim collection of still pictures, blurred around the edges by mourning and probably alcohol: Terra kneeling by the corpse, emptying herself of magic in a vain attempt to raise her friend from a place none had known to return from; Sabin pounding the ground in frustration, leaving bloody streaks across the cracked stone; the three of them fleeing, dragging Celes' lifeless, ugly form as the tower decayed around them.

Finally after all had been emptied, like Pandora's box, only one thing was left untouched. Pristine and crystal clear, in stark contrast with the other blurred and half-remembered visions, it was left immaculate: a marble tomb...

...framed by the light of a setting sun. Locke sensed Terra's hand on his shoulder, but he felt nothing; his whole body was numb. He allowed himself to be led like a sheep back to the tiny boat. But as he placed one foot inside the vessel he froze. Coming to very slowly as if from a daze, he felt feeling return to his body. He leapt from the craft and ran, feet naked to the cold, rocky ground.

It took him a moment for his mind to catch up with his body, and when he came around, he was at the base of a mountain. Placing one foot in front of the other meticulously, he climbed the winding path up the bluff. Then, abruptly, he was there and he could see the stained purple ocean spreading in all directions. Where it met the bruised sky, it was similar in color and it was difficult to tell where one started and the next began. The only marker was the brilliant golden sun, halfway descended below the horizon.

Solemnly, he approached the edge. It was not a dizzying height, but it left him in no uncertain terms of what his fate would be. He wondered how, ages ago, Celes had been able to survive the fall. What were the words she had told him in confidence when the two of them were alone on the airship?_ When people were feeling down, they'd hike up here and take a leap of faith. Perk 'em right up._

That was what he needed, a leap of faith. He would let nature and whatever gods were left after Kefka's fall decide his fate, but while he told himself he had a coin flip chance, he was already resigned to his doom. And when his body lay broken on the shore below he would be free.

Footsteps sounded on the ridge but it was already too late, he was committed to his course of action. Emerald flashed in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head a minute degree. He allowed a sad smile to cross his face, to let her know he was sorry. And with a flick of his shoulders, and a shuffle of his feet he was gone, lost to nature and chance, spinning like Edgar's coin...

_heads, tails, heads, tails_

(_heads, heads, heads_)

* * *

_I told you it would all make sense now. But just in case it still doesn't, here is a list of things you can do to remedy that._

_1. Reread the story and meditate over it for a few hours. If you still don't get it, maybe you're meditating wrong._

_2. Go watch the Scrubs episode "My Screw Up" on Netflix. I basically stole the plot from there.  
_

_3. If you're really desperate PM me and I'll try to explain it._

_Anyway, hopefully (I use that word a lot in these notes) that helped clear things up. And I hate to say it, but if you're still confused now, you're in trouble, cause the next chapter is a doozy._

_P.S. I was kidding, please don't PM me._


	4. Chapter 4

Terra ran over harsh ground, and the sharp edges of rocks cut into the soles of her bare feet. She had removed them for the boat ride back to the mainland, and they now lay in tiny craft, presumably still floating in the churning waves.

All of this was disregarded as she pounded up the cruel slope. The inescapable feeling of dread that had fallen over her since their arrival on the island had mounted to a crescendo. Her heart thundered in her chest in a manner that had little to do with physical exertion. Her mind and body were numb to the thick gashes in her feet as she scrabbled up boulders and over rotting tree trunks.

It seemed every step she took brought her no closer to her destination. Her quest to reach the horizon seemed forever unachievable, and she stretched out her arms even farther trying to reach for it. The wind swept around her, numbing the tips of her fingers and snatching at her hair and clothes, trying to hold her back.

Then, abruptly, the slope died off and the brilliant golden rays of the setting sun silhouetted the figure of Locke Cole. She glimpsed something blue in his clenched hand, and his hair flowed free in the icy wind. His head twitched a minute degree, and she was positive he could see her. Her heart leapt to her throat and blocked the scream that struggled to free itself there. So she simply watched in a trance-like silence, as he shuffled forward and disappeared over the side of the cliff like a doll in the wind.

As she saw his body vanish, she gasped for a breath in the saturated air. And now she screamed-a feral sound that tore at the rotting trees and was carried by the wind to all the ends of the world. She rushed to the edge of the cliff and looked into the churning lavender ocean below. Locke was nowhere to be seen.

Time stood still, but the air reverberated with a thousand words, whispered in darkness and confidence. Words of strength and perseverance and love. Words that told her to hold fast to her humanity and confront her emotions. Words that whispered comfort in times of doubt and tears.

It was these words that she held fast to as she pitched her fragile, mortal body forwards, over the edge of the cliff. She instinctively trusted her magic to protect her form the impact. All she could think of as the wind rushed around her, were its icy fingers, snatching the words from her mind and her heart, and carrying them away to somewhere beyond comprehension and retrieval.

It wasn't until halfway down that she recalled The Purge. Then she struck the water at terminal velocity and felt the world melt to nothing around her.

Terra awoke groggily on the ivory sands of a tiny beach, opening sand-crusted eyes and rubbing them with her wrinkled fingers. She ran a hand through her hair to find it laced with seaweed. As she looked down, she realized that her clothes were a wreck, torn in so many places that she could hardly consider herself decent anymore.

_Locke!_

The memories struck her like a blow to the head: the cliff, his figure disappearing over its edge, and her own headlong dive over the side. Her eyes frantically scanned the horizon as she waded into the foaming water. There was no break in the endless waves for eons in every direction. She swam back to shore and fell to the ground, burying herself in the white sand. She closed her eyes and let out a low moan, emanating from the deepest depths of her being.

She opened sun-scarred eyes and from on high, she caught a glimpse of rich blue color, distinct from the bruised maroon color the sky had turned since The Fall. She scrambled towards it, and found herself faced with the sheer wall of granite from which she had plummeted.

So Terra began to climb, spirit seized by the last hope of the prize she would find at her quest's conclusion. Her hands and feet never faltered, and she pulled herself up the sheer face with ease, if not grace.

A white tree grew from the side of the cliff, and fluttering in one of its branches was a tattered blue bandana. It flew in the wind like a nation's pennant, a symbol of something greater than itself. She reached for it, and now she did falter. Her feet lost their grip on the face of the rock and she fell from the wall, her hand closing on empty air as she felt eons grow between her and the bandana. She fell into the waves for the second time.

Terra looked up from her place where her pennant of hope floated in the wind. Perhaps dusk had descended for it seemed so much less clear and even farther away than before. She no longer had the strength to fetch it. With a heavy heart, she stood and walked back to the house. Dawn fell in a hundred shades of black over its run down walls and tiled roof.

She stepped over the rocky ground towards the boat that would return her home, more shattered than the broken glass crushed under her bare feet. The still air pandered in whispers once more. Of beautiful words, dead words.

Behind her, the white rose that stood vigil over the marble tomb shed a petal as it wilted.

**:i:**

The night was still young when the woman stumbled back into the inn, already half drunk. She signaled the innkeeper and fell into a long oaken chair near the back of the room. Head in her hands, she winced at the light from the gas lamp above her head. She heard the thud of glass on the wooden table before her and squinted through heavy brows.

A figure sat before her, and something about his silhouette sparked a memory, long forgotten. A haze covered her vision and she shook her eyes, silently cursing the blinding light that shone down from on high. She rubbed her eyes and blinked, and the scene gained some clarity. And yet, she was sure she was still blinded, for in front of her sat the figure of Locke Cole.

Elation filled her to the brim and she struggled in vain to hold it in. It poured from her eyes and her cheeks and her heart, evaporating from her skin and into the saturated air. Locke sat down at the table and her eyes met his across the short distance. The hues of color within danced like a thousand stars.

_How?_ The unspoken plea for information was lost to the emotion in his eyes. Words could not express her heart as she rose from her seat and stared. He reached out and took her hand, and a shiver ran down her spine. The light above them faded to nothingness as they slipped outside the building and into the night.

Their bodies twirled and spun, and they were naked beneath the glowing light of the moon. The soles of their feet tapped a solemn tune on the dark cobblestones of the narrow streets. They were far apart at first, but they grew closer together with each step. They danced until they were one, and to onlookers, there seemed to be but a single figure, silhouetted by the moonlight, spinning and dancing under the brilliant light of a thousand stars.

Unbeknownst to all, as _she_ spun and twirled, the figure opened a clenched fist and a faded blue bandana fell from her grasp. It had been loved undone, and age had washed nearly all the color from it. It floated to the ground where soft footsteps and innocent voices and beautiful illusions covered it, and it lay forgotten among the cracked stones.

* * *

_There it is, make of it what you will. I purposely left the ending ambiguous so I support whatever conclusion you draw from the story. I've heard a number of different interpretations from beta readers. Thank you all for reading._

_Cheers, Macalaure._


End file.
